


Under Pressure

by pippen2112



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alpha Lance (Voltron), Alpha/Beta/Omega Anatomy, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Coming Untouched, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dom/sub Undertones, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Injury Recovery, Insecurity, M/M, Masturbation, Mating Cylces/In Heat (referenced), Mild ass to mouth, Negative Self Talk, Omega Shiro (Voltron), Oral Sex, Overstimulation, Porn with Feelings, Rimming, Self-Esteem Issues, Sexual Dysfunction, Sexual Fantasy, Sexuality Crisis, Talking about their problems like goddamn adults, Teasing, Topping from the Bottom, Voice Kink, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-16
Updated: 2018-04-16
Packaged: 2019-04-23 20:25:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14340267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pippen2112/pseuds/pippen2112
Summary: Lance has a lot to be thankful for.  Being born in an enlightened century where alphas and omegas aren’t treated like frenzied, lust-crazed horn dogs.  Gaining a spot in the pilot training program, albeit because a certain mullet-head washed out.  Finding Blue under the desert and getting to see the universe, even if he’d kill for a pot of his mom’s fideo.But here and now, slack jawed and sweat slick, he’s thankful for Shiro.  For his flexibility.  For his smile.  For the way he splays his legs and arches off the bed and takes Lance’s cock like he was born for it.





	Under Pressure

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jaspurrlock (stilesstilerstyle)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stilesstilerstyle/gifts).



> This was written as a birthday surprise for the lovely jaspurrlock, who is 90% of the reason that I found Voltron in the first place. I am honored to create a little something to bring joy to someone who brings us SO MUCH JOY AND FILTH!

Lance has a lot to be thankful for. Being born in an enlightened century where alphas and omegas aren’t treated like frenzied, lust-crazed horn dogs. Gaining a spot in the pilot training program, albeit because a certain mullet-head washed out. Finding Blue under the desert and getting to see the universe, even if he’d kill for a pot of his mom’s fideo.

But here and now, slack jawed and sweat slick, he’s thankful for Shiro. For his flexibility. For his smile. For the way he splays his legs and arches off the bed and takes Lance’s cock like he was born for it.

“That feels good, right?” he asks between thrusts, grinding his hips nice and slow. 

A low moan slips out of Shiro’s throat, half-shocked. He throws his head back and claws at the pillow beneath his head, biting his lip to quiet his cries. 

Seeing Shiro spread out under him is unreal enough, but hearing those breathy whimpers tickles a part of his psyche he doesn’t quite understand. The alpha part, the mess of possessive and protective urges. He nearly leans down and pries Shiro’s lip free, just to hear each and every cry. Good, he’d love to hear Shiro unfettered, but the castle walls aren’t so thick. Even if the other Paladins have known about their relationship for the past two months, Lance and Shiro have been hiding for so long it’s practically second nature now.

As Shiro lets out another wordless keen, Lance makes himself pull out, only his cock head left teasing at his rim. He grins when Shiro squeezes his eyes shut and whines. “What’s that? I didn’t hear you?”

Shiro clenches around him, his walls straining to drag Lance back where he wants him most. Lance grits his teeth at the bright, hot pressure. He forces himself to relive the lecture Coran gave him and Shiro after their relationship came to light, the Altean version of sex-ed. Reliving the awkward memory helps quell his arousal. “C’mon, Shiro. Use your words, and tell your alpha where you want him.”

Cheeks brightening, Shiro gulps and moves fast. His legs wrap around Lance’s hips, and in seconds, Shiro has Lance pinned to the mattress, Lance’s dick not budging an inch.

Lance can’t help staring, his mind still reeling to catch him up.

Shiro swivels his hips and rocks down onto Lance, setting a painfully slow pace. Every nerve in Lance’s body lights up so good as he sinks into Shiro, one inch at a time. He groans deep in his throat, clamps both hands over his mouth to silence himself.

“You were saying?”

Lance sputters as his face heats up. “I-I, umm… I wanted y-you to— _ooh!_ ”

He very nearly shrieks when Shiro bounces, honest to God _bounces,_ on his cock. He braces his hands against Lance’s shoulders as he works hard and fast, the way Lance loves but can’t quite bear. Shiro smirks down at him. “You wanted what now?”

In any other situation, Lance would pout at the condescending tone. Especially coming from Shiro. But right now, while he’s riding Lance like he’s the last horse left in town, taking him all the way to the hilt every time, Shiro can say whatever he wants. Lance’ll pay him back for it later. For now, he lays back, bites his fist, and tires not to come too fast.

Of course, that’s easier said than done. He and Shiro have only been having sex for about a month now, and before that Lance’s little black book of sex partners is essentially empty—trading hand jobs after gymnastics tournaments in high school _barely_ counts. After about ninety seconds of Shiro doing his absolute worst, Lance’s knot swells up as he comes. Just before it catches on his rim, Shiro props himself up higher but keeps on riding. Eyes squeezed shut, Shiro milks his cock until Lance is oversensitive and cursing. Then, Shiro angles his hips carefully, leaning back so Lance’s dick drags just right, and comes across their chests.

Only once they’re cleaned up and Shiro’s nestled against his side as they both come down from the high does he realize Shiro came without touching his dick. Without so much as a single stroke. Lance didn’t think that happened outside of porn.

“Hey, I’ve got a question.”

Shiro nuzzles his neck, breathing in his pheromones. It’s one of the very few stereotypical omega behaviors he’s seen Shiro exhibit, and Lance can’t help hugging him closer.

Chuckling against his skin, Shiro says, “Yeah?”

“That thing you did,” Lance says oh so casually, “the no-hands sploosh. Is that… common?”

Shiro tucks his face into Lance’s shoulder, his cheeks hot to the touch. He’s blushing. _Cute_. Lance really wishes he had a better view of it, but if that’s where Shiro needs to be, he won’t pester him. “Not common, per say,” Shiro says quietly, “but with enough stimulation, enough buildup, yeah, it’s possible.”

“It feels that good?”

There’s a moment of silence, then Shiro looks up at him, his cheeks still pink as his brow furrows. “I take it you haven’t played around down there before.”

Lance flushes and shakes his head. Sure, growing up he had a healthy sex drive for a young alpha and a powerful dearth of partners, so he’s well acquainted with his left hand. And yeah, he’s seen enough porn to know that secondary gender and sexual orientation aside, plenty of folks like anal stimulation, but he never quite made the leap between “shit, that guy really likes having something up his ass” to “I wonder if it feels good to play with _my_ ass.”

Bless him, Shiro shoots him a warm grin before snuggling back into his chest. “Yes, it feels good, but it’s a different kind of stimulation. It’s more intense in a lot of ways, but it takes a lot of work to get it right. But when it’s right, it’s…” he trails off, his breath warm and raspy against Lance’s skin. “It’s like someone else has the reigns and I’m just along for the ride. Like I don’t have to worry about anything else for a while, just feeling.”

And pervert that he is, Lance’s spent cock twitches. Shiro’s gaze tilts southward, following the motion. Grinning, he runs a teasing hand along Lance’s side. “We could try it sometime. If you want to.”

Lance grins, his own cheeks burning hotter. He grabs Shiro’s hand, threads their fingers together, and brings it to his lips. He kisses each knuckle, humming contentedly. “I’m good with what we’ve got. But if I change my mind, you’ll be the first one to know.”

Shiro nuzzles closer and kisses his neck, and yeah, Lance is definitely gonna have to take care of some business before bed. Or let Shiro take care of it if he’s amenable. Given the way his hands keep wandering down Lance’s torso, the thought has probably already occurred to him.

Lance’s breath sticks in his chest for just a moment. It’s not the first time he’s been thankful for his boyfriend’s sexual ease, not by a long shot, but even after all these months, first getting closer during down time and dating in secret to make sure they really fit together before coming out to the team, after all this time, Shiro continues to surprise him.

#

The battle was two days ago, but Lance still hasn’t changed out of his flight suit. He hasn’t left the infirmary since Coran got Shiro situated in a healing pod. Hasn’t done much more than hold his head in his hands and sit on the floor with his back pressed against the healing pod, waiting. Because Shiro shouldn’t be the one getting put back together. It wasn’t Black the Galra squadron had targeted when the Lions had stumbled upon them. It was Blue.

And Shiro had put himself in harm’s way without a second though.

Lance bites the inside of his cheek and swallows until the wave of nausea passes. This isn’t how anything is supposed to go. It was just a recon mission. No one was supposed to get hurt. Especially not Shiro. _Especially not for me._

The infirmary door slides open, shocking Lance out of his pity party. Even if it’s probably just Hunk dropping by with a bowl of food goo Lance would rather smear across the wall, he wipes his eyes automatically. Maybe he can save just a scrap of his dignity. But when Lance turns toward the door, it’s not his beloved beta bestie. Nope, not unless the others stumbled across some body switching technology in the bowels of the castle and Hunk got stuck in Keith’s stupidly strong form. But really, when has his luck ever gone that way?

Keith gives him a cursory glance and as he approaches the healing pod. With each step he takes, Lance bites his tongue to silence an instinctive growl. For chrissake, Keith and Shiro are friends; the alpha has every right to be concerned. To be here, at Shiro’s bedside, even if he is stinking up the place.

“How’s he doing?” Keith asks, not even looking at him.

Lance crosses his arms and squares his shoulders. “He’s doing better.” His voice sounds awful, but after spending most of the last 48 hours on his own, Lance muscles through it. “Coran said he might be out this afternoon, but he’s gonna need some TLC before he’s back to a hundred percent.”

Keith nods, but his eyebrows pull together as his jaw clenches. _Shiro would still be at a hundred percent if it weren’t for you._ Lance’s gut spasms. He doesn’t need Keith to speak; he knows, because that sour voice in his head has already thrown it in his face at least a dozen times over the last two days.

But Keith doesn’t say a word. Instead, he goes and sits on the opposite side of the healing pod, his arms crossed, his gaze narrowed when he looks toward Lance. And Lance sees the challenge written in his eyes, daring him to tell Keith to go. A freaking power move, that what.

 _Why shouldn’t he play alpha? He’s not the one who got his mate hurt._ Lips pursed, Lance goes back to his position next to the pod.

For over an hour, they sit and stew in their own thoughts. When the control panel above Lance’s head lights up and starts chirping, he and Keith both of them leap to their feet, shouldering for a better view of the screen even though neither of them can read Altean worth a darn. But it’s the principle that keeps Lance nose to nose with Keith until the infirmary doors open and Coran breezes in, shooing them both away. “Good, good,” he comments as he pages through Shiro’s vitals. “Well, we’re in luck, lads! Looks like Shiro’s on the mend.”

Lance’s heart leaps into his throat.

“He’s good to come out?” Keith asks, caution shading his voice.

“Keeping him under any longer won’t do any good,” Coran comments as he works the controls. “Lance, wheel over that chair. It’ll be best if he doesn’t over exert himself.”

Lance scrambles over to the nearest chair, grabs the back rest just as he nears the pod whoosh open. “Woah, easy Shiro,” Coran says. “Let’s get you a sit.”

He turns around and nearly freezes. Shiro looks pale, paler than usual because of the bright white healing suit straining around him. His head tips forward, and if it weren’t for Coran and Keith with his arms around their shoulders, he probably would’ve gone straight to the floor. Lance swallows around the knot of tension in his throat and glides the chair into position behind Shiro so they can set him down real easy.

As soon as his hands are free, Coran starts scanning Shiro, double checking his vitals now that he’s awake, if a little bleary eyed. Keith moves to touch Shiro’s shoulder, and Lance has to bite his tongue to silence a snarl. But when the subtle pressure makes Shiro hiss and clutch his side, all that aggression melts out of him.

“Shiro?” Lance says cautiously, feeling suddenly lost.

Shiro looks past Keith and Coran, his eyes landing on Lance, bright despite the dark circles ringing them. His mouth tips open, and he extends a bandaged hand, reaching out for him.

Without a word, Lance closes the distance between them. He takes Shiro’s hand and presses the knuckles to his lips. He’s warm. He’s breathing. He’s alive.

If Keith or Coran notice the tears welling in his eyes, they both know better than to say anything. Because Shiro’s back in his arms. He’s okay. And right now, nothing else matters.

#

For a guy with a couple broken ribs and enough internal bleeding to empty a blood bank, Shiro bounces back to his old self in remarkably little time. Before Lance knows it, Shiro’s cleared for duty, back to leading the Paladins through sparring drills and flight maneuvers. It fills his heart with joy to see Shiro back at the helm of Team Voltron, but that doesn’t mean his worries take a hike.

No, Lance gets the pleasure of second guessing his abilities and finding fault with every one. He spends more of his downtime on the training deck, practicing against the Gladiator, running shooting programs, or bonding with Blue. Maybe if he works harder, trains longer, and pares down his reaction time, the next time he’s under fire he‘ll be able to save his own ass. So Shiro doesn’t get hurt protecting him when its supposed to be the other way around, _dammit!_

Late one evening, while the other Paladins are watching old Altean vids on the holodeck, Lance is still training. He guns through simulation after simulation, practicing with his bayard until his scores are damn near perfect. By the time he’s reached the end of the list, his arms and shoulders are starting to ache. Probably should call it a night. There’s only so much he can do to improve. Only so much better he can be.

A pair of arms wrap around his waist, and a familiar line of warmth presses against his back, effectively cutting off that train of thought. “You’re up late,” Shiro says, hooking his chin over Lance’s shoulder. “We missed you at movie night.”

“Sorry, babe.” He pecks Shiro’s cheek before glancing down at his scores on the training programs. “I got… carried away.”

Shiro chuckles, his breath warm on Lance’s neck. “You smell like it, too.”

Lance cringes, ducking his head as he holsters his bayard and turns around in Shiro’s arms. “Sorry.”

“Nothing hot water and soap won’t fix.” Shiro tips up Lance’s chin, grinning. “Want some company?”

A wave of want rushes through him. Lance blushes, praying it plays as part his post-training exertion instead of embarrassment. He’s still not used to how bold Shiro can be. “I dunno. Dudes back on earth pay out the nose to smell half this musky.”

“Oh really?” Without missing a beat, Shiro hauls Lance up over his shoulder. 

Lance squawks. “Shiro, put me down!”

“Or I can keep you right here so I can enjoy your musk. While it lasts.”

“Shiro, no!”

But Shiro just laughs and presses on to the bathroom near engineering, the one the other Paladins rarely use. Once they’re inside, Shiro sets Lance down on a bench, waves on the overhead shower spray, and locks the door. Before Lance even gets off his gauntlets, Shiro straddles him, hands cupping the back of his neck and pulling their lips together.

One kiss melts into the next, a filthy blend of tongue and want so strong Lance’s breath catches in his chest. Shiro makes a pleased noise as he deepens the kiss. His hands are everywhere. Trailing over Lance’s neck, spreading over his hips, drifting down toward his groin. It’s not the first time he’s had Shiro in his lap as they make out, but it still makes his nerves alight.

He keens as Shiro strips off his armor, quick and certain, seeking out Lance’s newly bared flesh with single-minded determination. As soon as he’s naked to the waist, Lance rucks up Shiro’s vest and shirt, spreading his hands over Shiro’s chest and back. All over, Shiro looks healthy and flushed, but Lance hesitates at the sight of dull yellow bruising across his sides. His throat tenses. He’s spent so much time kissing each of Shiro’s scars, putting love into each and every old wound, but some mostly healed bruises give him pause. 

At the warm press of Shiro’s erection against his stomach, Lance snaps back to reality. He takes a quick peek up at Shiro’s wide-open eyes, lust and love written plainly across his face. Lance’s gut squirms, arousal rearing in his soul, but his pants feel no tighter than before. Weird, normally he pops a boner when Shiro so much as breathes in his general direction. But now that he thinks about it, he hasn’t had to take care of himself in a while, not since—

Lance shuts that train of thought down. No, he’s here with Shiro. Focus on Shiro, and everything else will fall into place. Right? But he doesn’t find that logic quite so convincing.

His fingers tremble as he works open Shiro’s fly, but a warm hand curls around his wrist, stilling him. Lance looks up, finds Shiro’s wide gray eyes watching him closely. “Lance? Are you okay? You’re shaking.”

“W-what? No, I’m…” he trails off, flushed and uncertain. “I’m great. I just…” He palms Shiro’s side gently, his thumb tracing over a greenish yellow bruises right under his pecs. “It’s the first time since…”

Shiro’s face reddens, and his expression pinches as he looks down at his lap. He draws a deep breath before slowly, gently, running his thumbs over Lance’s cheekbones down to the corner of his lips. “I’m okay. I promise.”

_And if it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t have gotten hurt in the first place._

Shiro pulls back, kneeling up on the bench. But he keeps holding Lance’s face in his hands like he’s something precious. Something worthy. His eyes prickle, but he squeezes his eyes shut. Just in case.“If it’s too soon, we don’t have to do anything. Just scrub up and hit the sack. Whatever you’re comfortable with.” He looks down at his lap, cheeks turning darker by the second. “I guess I did come on a little strong. Sorry.”

“No, no, no!” Lance surges forward, gripping Shiro’s hips and holding him in place when he tries to rise. He presses their foreheads together. “Don’t you dare apologize for wanting, okay?” He holds Shiro’s gaze until he nods and nuzzles in closer. “Good. I’m just… it’s taking longer than I thought to get my head on straight. I’ll get there, it’s just…” _It’s hard to just be us when you got hurt because of me._

Nodding, Shiro leans down and kisses him slow and sweet. Despite his care, Lance still feels Shiro’s bulge brush against his stomach, and another flare of want pulses through him but stops just shy of his groin. When they part for air, Lance squeezes Shiro’s hands. “C’mon, lets get you cleaned up.”

Shiro cocks his head. “I’m not the dirty one, hon.”

“I dunno, babe. I’m not the one sporting a boner during this little heart to heart.”

Shiro rolls his eyes, but a glimmer of a grin curls at the corner of his mouth. “Maybe… what’re you gonna do about it?”

“Get off my lap, and you’ll find out.”

#

_Shiro hovers over him, kissing his neck before slipping slowly down the bed. Lance watches, his mouth tipped open. One moment, Shiro’s fingers trail over his waistband. The next, he grins wickedly. He pulls down Lance’s pants, leaving his boxer shorts in place. Lance flushes, achingly aware of the bump of his sheath against the fabric. Stupid shy cock. This has never been a problem._

_But Shiro just smiles before pressing his face into the fabric. He takes a deep breath, nuzzling in closer and moaning._

_Lance’s heart pounds in his ears. His breath sticks in his chest. Dear God, that’s Shiro between his legs, that’s his hero breathing him in and groaning like it’s the best thing he’s ever smelled. That’s Shiro pulling his underwear down just so, and suddenly Lance feels cool air against his sheath and gasps. No one’s ever seen him in this state._

_It’s unbecoming for an alpha to still be sheathed when their pants come off. Alphas are supposed to be primed and ready to serve, but instead he’s here, flat on his back and flaccid. But Shiro groans. His eyes flutter closed, and before Lance can even react, Shiro starts lapping at him. Coaxing his sheath open with a warm wet tongue across the slit. Lance’s eyes eyes roll back. What did he do to deserve this?_

Nothing _, the spiteful part of his brain chirps as the dream darkens around him._ You don’t deserve it.

Lance wakes with a jolt. Warm. He’s surrounded by warmth as his heart throbs hard. Arms around his waist, a firm chest against his back, soft snores and drool on his neck. Strange, Shiro’s not usually a sleep cuddler. Some nights when he wakes up from a nightmare, Shiro will pull Lance flush against him or curl against his side, holding tight like he’s worried Lance might break. For the most part, Shiro sticks to his own space, but now he’s mouthing sleepily at Lance’s skin and rocking his hips against Lance’s ass. His heat must be coming up. 

For about ten seconds, Lance closes his eyes, casts the dream aside, and lets himself enjoy Shiro’s warmth and attentions. The feel of lips on his neck. Shiro’s pajama pants skimming across his bare thighs. The strong arms wrapped around him. It’s wonderful. Being held. He could get used to this.

_Yeah, but you don’t deserve it._

And as soon as the thought crosses his mind, Lance sighs and slowly, carefully, worms his way out of Shiro’s arms. By some miracle, Shiro doesn’t stir, just makes an annoyed noise before flopping over a drifting back to sleep. The sound needles at Lance’s chest, twisting as it zips through him. Taking away Shiro’s source of comfort makes him feel about two inches tall, but if he stays, if he gets back in bed, if Shiro wakes up and gives him those sleepy-heavy, puppy-dog eyes, Lance is gonna feel even worse turning him down.

He gathers his clothes and heads to the bathroom. Hot water and steam will clear his head. He strips, turns on the tap, and steps under the spray. And sure enough, the hot water helps unknit the tension in his muscles but not as thoroughly as he needs. Lance sighs and scrubs his face. It’s so stupid, finding alleged problems when there’s nothing wrong. He’s been endlessly pleased to have Shiro healed, whole, and suddenly spending more nights in his bed than out. He’s never felt closer to Shiro, never felt more loved. 

If only his goddamn dick would get its act in gear.

Since the accident, since he failed as an alpha and let his omega get hurt, Little Lance-y has been out of commission. Stubbornly so. Didn’t so much as twitch out its sheath when Lance had two fingers up Shiro's ass and his cock halfway down his throat, milking out bitten-off moans and salty-sweet cum until Shiro was boneless and incoherent over him. Which, fine, he gets it. If he’s not gonna behave like an alpha, why shouldn’t his cock follow suit? If he’s not gonna protect his own, why should he get to reap the benefits? But with Shiro’s heat bearing down on them… yeah, that’s not gonna work. Not by a long shot.

Of course, just thinking about Shiro while he’s presently (a) naked and (b) wet sets his nerves on fire. Deep inside him, his cock pulses, but it doesn’t make the slightest move toward extending from its sheath. But that doesn’t stop want from skittering over his skin, dredging up a frustrated moan. 

Jesus, he needs this to stop. Yes, he’s alone in the bathroom, and his cubicle is curtained off, but there’s no guarantee that will last. And if Shiro walks in, Lance doesn’t know what he’s gonna do. But in his current state, even if he cock won’t come out to play, he still wants…something.

_“It’s like someone else has the reigns and I’m just along for the ride. Like I don’t have to worry about anything else for a while, just feeling.”_

Shiro’s words echo in his mind, unbidden. God, that’s a stupid idea. One of the dumbest he’s ever had. Even if he has a prostate, what are the odds he can actually find it, much less on his first try? What are the chances he’ll even like it? It’s just a stupid thought, but Lance knows himself too well. If he doesn’t try, the idea will just sit at the back of his mind, lingering and darkening every other thought. Better to just try it out here and now and prove his brain wrong.

Recalling all the times he’s watched Shiro finger himself and helped prep him, Lance exhales and trails his hands down his sides, following the water rushing over his skin. He reaches his left hand back between his legs, starts at the base of his balls, and traces backward. Feather light, the sensation sends shivers up his spine. It’s different, a lot different than he expected. With his right hand, he eases his ass cheeks apart gingerly, his left forefinger circling higher and higher toward his hole.

The first brush against his pucker, he flinches, accidentally falling face first against the shower wall. His exhale steams against the tile, his left hand curling into a fist. He counts back from ten in his head, willing himself to relax. _Easy. It’s just like any other part of you, Lance. Get your head out of your ass, and just give it a chance to work._

With a heavy breath, he exhales and pushes in to the first knuckle.

And it’s… odd. Not bad, but hardly anything to write home about. Just an unnatural presence stretching his rim. Maybe he needs a little more.

He bites his lip and pushes a little deeper. The drag leaves him hissing. Too fast. Especially with only water to ease the way. Shit, what was he thinking? Shiro is literally built for this, and he even takes a few minutes to work himself up. This is the stupidest idea he’s ever had. Just like thinking he could be something good for Shiro. Instead he’s standing in the shower with a finger up his ass because he’s a broken alpha with a broken damn dick who can’t take care of his partner.

He jerks, his fingers curling into a fist automatically despite the fact that his index finger is still wedged inside him. 

And all at once, a ripple of pleasure bursts in his groin, a chill rolling up his spine and settling heavy at the nape of his neck. Like a firm hand ready to steer him just right.

_Oh shit._

Before he can stop himself, Lance traces that spot again, biting his lip to silence his whimper. It’s too much and not enough, a perfect storm of pleasure, and Lance throws himself toward it. Despite the unnatural angle and his wrist already starting to cramp, he keeps a steady pace, circling rhythmically and stroking at odd intervals. 

His eyes squeeze shut, and he can picture Shiro smiling up at him, working him open with all the care in the world. Just thinking about his big hands, Lance pauses his assault and presses in another finger and then a third for good measure. This time, the stretch makes the heat in his guts burn hotter. Makes everything brighter and sharper and more immediate. More irresistible. And Lance can’t stop chasing that warm flare of bliss nestled in him. Can’t bring his spare hand around to trace his sheath. Can’t clap it around his mouth to smother all the sounds rumbling in his throat. Can’t—can’t—

The wave of pleasure crests, and too quickly, the head of Lance’s dick pokes through his sheath. It pulses once, twice, and he cums hard. Hard enough his knees give out. Lance slips down the wall, his face nearly sliding through his mess. He pants through the aftershocks, his breathing ragged. As his heartbeat slows, Lance pushes away from the wall, but he doesn’t risk clambering back to his feet. 

He watches the shower spray wash his cum down the drain, all those fond familiar insecurities rear their ugly heads. Fuck, what is wrong with him? He’s an alpha. He’s supposed to be a protector, supposed to take care of his mate and his people, supposed to be someone worthy of admiration and love. Not whatever _this_ is.

He hangs his head and blinks away his tears. Perfect, just perfect.

#

“Hey Lance,” Shiro says less than twenty-four hours later, clapping a hand on Lance’s shoulder as he’s retreating from the dining room after dinner. “You have a minute?”

Lance hesitates, already scanning Shiro’s face and posture before he can bring himself to answer. Despite his flush, Shiro’s shoulders are tight and his eyebrows pull together, a pinched line between them. Not looking to blow off steam before bedtime, which eases the tension in Lance’s chest. There’s only so many times a guy can say no to his smoking hot boyfriend before said boyfriend starts asking the really tough questions.

“Sure,” he says with all the confidence he can muster. “What’s up?”

Shiro’s mouth twitches before he takes Lance’s hand and leads the way to an unused storage room down the corridor. As soon as the door closes behind them, Lance’s palms start sweating. When they were in public, he was pretty sure Shiro wouldn’t proposition him. But now that they’re alone? He shuffles foot to foot, rubbing the back of his neck as Shiro takes stock of the room and sits down one an unmarked crate, his hands curling around the edge.

“What did you wanna talk about?” Lance asks, already regretting breaking the silence.

Shiro’s cheeks darken as he looks up at Lance. He draws a deep breath before he speaks. “My heat’s coming on quick.”

And all at once, Lance blanches. Shit, he knew this was coming. He woke up to Shiro practically humping him for chrissake. He really shouldn’t be so caught off guard by this. But here he is, standing across from Shiro in an old storage room, his heartbeat rabbiting in his chest and his feet absolutely ready to run. God, he feels like he’s gonna vomit.

But in the space of Lance’s panic, Shiro cocks his head to the side and squeezes his hands around the lip of the crate, his knuckles white. _Didn’t even say a word, and you’ve already fucked it up. Way to go, Lance._

He digs his hands deep into his pockets and hangs his head. “Um, what do you wanna…” he trails off, his voice high and squeaky and painfully uncertain. “…y’know?” And now his head feels like it’s spinning on its axis.

“I was about to say Coran managed to synthesize a suppressant for me and I wanted to tell you before I took it, but I guess I have my answer,” Shiro says sharply, his words cutting to the quick. Just as Lance looks up, Shiro drops his head between his shoulders, his arms tight and straining. “I get it, Lance. It’s a big step, and you’re still pretty new to this, but you could’ve just told me you weren’t interested in that kind of commitment.”

“It’s not…” Lance trails off. 

“It’s not what?”

Flushing, Lance hangs his head. Sharing a heat is a big deal for everyone involved. Growing up, Lance used to dream about having someone who trusted him to take care of them through their most vulnerable moments. He’d be honored to share it with Shiro. But for nearly a month now, Lance hasn’t been in working order. Hasn’t had his head on straight. And as much as Shiro assuming he’s afraid of commitment hurts, it’s less painful than the truth.

Shiro makes a soft, pained sound. It’s faint, but in the empty room, there’s no mistaking it. Lance looks up quickly, takes in the lines of tension running through Shiro’s body and starts across the room. He steps in between Shiro’s legs and pulls him close. He may be a mess about a lot of things, but Lance will be damned if he lets Shiro suffer. Especially because of him.

At first, Shiro bristles at his touch, and yeah, as much as that hurts, Lance gets it. For about three seconds, Shiro angles away from him, not pulling out of his arms but definitely not making things easy on him. But physiology takes over, and Shiro bows into him and buries his face in Lance’s shoulder. Pheromones. Shiro must be extra sensitive, especially so close to his heat. A few deep breaths, and Shiro’s shoulders ease. Lance stops himself from rubbing Shiro’s back but only barely. Probably for the best. In a dishearteningly short time, Shiro pulls away, narrowing his dark gray eyes at Lance before he sighs and hangs his head. “I’m still mad at you.”

“I know,” Lance says, the knot in his chest winching tighter.

“Not just about this.”

When Shiro looks up at him, exhaustion weighing on his shoulders now that the nervous tension has leeched out, Lance can’t help swallowing. He itches to pull Shiro back down against him and sooth him to sleep, but that seems like a quick way to a black eye. Instead he lets his hands hang between them, numb and empty as he waits for Shiro to break up with him.

_He deserves better anyway._

“Lance, tell me what’s going on. I’m know you haven’t been yourself for a while. I thought you just needed time to bounce back to your old self, but…” Shiro leaves the sentence hanging between them. Shiro ducks his head, his own hands falling limply between his knees. He exhales, his shoulders slumping. “If I don’t know what’s wrong, I don’t know how to help you. Please, just talk to me.”

It’s dirty pool, Shiro sounding so dejected. Lance’s gut curdles tight around all his guilt, tight enough to make him keel over. Before he can think better of it, Lance closes the distance between them and presses his forehead to Shiro’s. He squeezes his eyes closed and sucks in a heavy breath. He can do this. If he can’t talk about this with Shiro, who can he bring it up with?

“I can’t get it up.”

Those five stupid words hang in the air between them, heavy enough to suffocate him.

“You…what?” Shiro asks, but bless him, he doesn’t pull away or sound the least bit disgusted, just startled and unsure.

God, Lance would love to laugh and call it just one big prank. Pretend everything is fine and he’s just made a really bad joke. But now that he’s owned up to it, he doesn’t have it in him to take them back. He owes it to Shiro, no matter how hard his chest constricts. 

“Not since you got hurt.”

“Lance, we’re soldiers. We get hurt all the time. It’s part of the job description.”

“Yeah, but you’re not supposed to get hurt for me.” The words come out so fast they take his already thin breath away. He squeezes his eyes shut, but he feels like he’s shaking apart regardless. “I’m supposed to be the one protecting you, watching your six, keeping you safe. And I fai—”

“—Don’t you dare finish that sentence,” Shiro says, firm as any order given on the battlefield. Those words snap him back to reality, to Shiro holding his hands so tightly, tighter than he’s ever been held, even after the worst of Shiro’s nightmares. “We’re a team.”

“Yeah,” he chokes out. “Team Voltron.”

“No, you and me,” Shiro says as he gazes up at Lance. “Above all else, we take care of each other. That means that sometimes it’s gonna be me saving you’re ass, and sometimes it’ll be you saving me. That’s the nature of what we do. Of who we are. Regardless of secondary sex.”

But his throat burns, and his ears ring, and he can’t catch his breath. “But, I’m s-supposed to—”

Shiro shushes him, letting go of his hands just so he can pull Lance onto the crate and into his lap. “Shh, just breathe, hon.”

Lance clings to him, shaking hard as too many emotions tear through him. By the time his sobs quiet, Lance has his nose buried in Shiro’s chest, letting Shiro’s stable, sweet scent calm him. Yeah, there are tear stains on Shiro’s vest, but Shiro’s running his fingers through Lance’s hair, humming softly. Lance doesn’t know what he did to deserve this, Shiro taking care of him, but he’ll hold tight to it for as long as it’s his.

“It’s gonna be okay, Lance.”

He scoffs. “I envy your optimism, babe, but I haven’t been able to get it up for twenty-nine days. I don’t think a little cry is gonna fix that.”

“You’ve been stressed. That wears anybody down, especially when you take on the weight by yourself.” Shiro kisses his cheek so softly it sends a shiver up his spine. “But you’re not alone. I’m here to help in every way I can.”

“Yeah I know you’ve got a work around for the heat, but…” Lance trails off, flushing. “But someday, I imagine you’re gonna wanna have sex again. And I’m not….”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, hon,” Shiro says, laughing as he gives Lance a calm grin, “but the success or failure of our sex life is not contingent on your dick. Sure it’s helpful, but it’s not the only option we have.”

“Like what?”

Shiro gives him a sly grin. “If you’re trying to get me to dirty talk, it’ll have to wait ‘til we get to the bedroom.”

Lance blushes. “I wasn’t! But… you wouldn’t…” He pauses, dredging up a little confidence. “You wouldn’t think any less of me if I… if I wanted you to fuck me?”

For about five seconds Shiro goes absolutely silent. When Lance finally gets the courage to look at him, he finds Shiro absolutely gob smacked. Slack jawed, wide eyed, with a disbelieving grin spread across his face. Before Lance can duck his head in embarrassment or take it back, Shiro cups his cheeks and pulls him in for the sweetest kiss. When he pulls back, Shiro presses his forehead to Lance and whispers, “It would be my honor.”

Lance can’t stop the stupid smile from spreading across his face, or his relieved tears, or the shiver of delight trailing down his spine.

#

Lance throws his head back, a whimper slipping out of his throat as he clings to the sheets. Like that will somehow keep him tethered to the real world. He can’t catch his breath, can’t figure out which end is up, where he ends and the wet, hot bliss begins. 

Because this, what’s happening right now, there’s no way this is real. It’s gotta be a dream and a half. There’s no way he’s laying flat on his back with his spine arcing off the mattress, Shiro laying between his spread legs, a single finger hooked into him and teasing his prostate while his tongue traces patterns around his hole. It’s not real. No way is it real. 

“Jesus,” he whimpers, rolling his hips down into Shiro’s assault. Practically begging for more.

“Nope,” Shiro chuckles against his rim. “Just Shiro.” He leaves a quick kiss on Lance’s taint, and that simple, sweet gesture should not send another pulse of want through him. Really, it shouldn’t. Everything he’s been taught his whole life tells him that this is wrong. That he shouldn’t be just lying here and taking it like a slu—

Before the thought can fully form in his mind, something boops Lance’s nose. Shiro’s Galra arm. He blinks up at those smooth metal fingers, his eyes slowly trailing up to meet Shiro’s. “Stop over thinking it,” he says calmly, like he doesn’t have drool shining on his chin or super-dilated pupils. To hammer home his point, Shiro crooks his fingers, trailing over Lance’s prostate and making him keen. “Just let me make you feel good.”

Lance nods, his bangs already starting to stick to his forehead. Christ, when did he start sweating? Was it when Shiro pushed him up against the wall after they got back from another close call with Galra fighters? Or when Shiro hoisted Lance up and pulled his legs around his hips as he started sucking marks into Lance’s skin? Or when he pushed his hands into Shiro’s hair and tugged just firm enough to make Shiro moan as he steered them toward the bed? Lance doesn’t know.

Instead, he props himself up on his elbows and watches as Shiro drops back between his legs, spreading Lance’s hole with his fingers and diving in.

Lance’s hips pump as arousal pulses through him. These kitten licks down there are such a strange sensation, one Shiro has wasted no time in introducing Lance to. Normally, Lance doesn’t think he’d like feeling sloppy down there, but watching Shiro’s eyes drift closed as he teases Lance’s ring and tickles his prostate, yeah, Lance wouldn’t trade seeing Shiro lose himself like this for anything. 

Then Shiro looks up from below him, winks, and suddenly Shiro’s finger slips out, replaced by something broad, slick, and so flexible. His tongue. Lance’s brain goes blank but for one thought: _Shiro’s tongue is in my ass._

For the next couple minutes, Lance does his best to remember how to breathe, he really does, but how can he waste brain cells on anything other than the feel of Shiro’s gaze pouring through him, piercing something deep inside him. He can’t quite name it, but he thirsts for it just the same. He squirms against Shiro’s ministrations, trying to help get the angle just right, but each time he gets so much as a flicker of pleasure, Shiro shifts and Lance is left whimpering. 

“Shiro,” he groans, all too loudly before he thinks better of it and claps a hand over his mouth. It’s too much, too good and he can only barely hold himself back. 

Shiro makes an affronted noise, the vibrations rattling up through him, pulling him deeper and deeper toward pleasure. As another moan rumbles in Lance’s chest, Shiro grabs his wrist and pins it to the bed. Lance bites his tongue, looks down at Shiro to see his wide gray eyes staring up at him. The only sounds filling the room are the mattress squeaking and Lance’s aborted groans, but he can read Shiro’s plea loud and clear. _Let me hear you, sweetheart._

It’s too much, and Lance can’t stop the sound from ripping through his throat, long and loud and absolutely wrecked. And below him, Shiro groans in turn, and the cycle just repeats itself.

And then there’s a gust of cool against his sheath, precum leaking from the slit as his cock emerges. Lance goes still and silent instantly. Moment’s later, Shiro opens his eyes, but they go wide in the space of a second. Lance can’t breath, can’t think, can’t stop the relieved tears from welling at his eyes. His cock. Dear God, it’s here. It’s back. If it weren’t for Shiro holding down his left wrist, he might just reach for it and jerk himself to completion. 

But then again, if it weren’t for Shiro, he’d be alone in his bed, his mind tearing itself apart for failing the stupid standards he was raised to believe were the only measure of his merit. If it weren’t for Shiro, he’d be back on Earth, struggling his way through the Garrison with no idea about the wider universe.

He forces himself to take a deep breath, looks down at Shiro, and says, “Shiro, fuck me. Please.”

For a solid ten seconds, Shiro gapes at him, his jaw dropping as he processes Lance’s words. A thousand questions cross his eyes as he pulls out of Lance, but all he says is, “You sure?”

Lance nods, his dick bobbing reflexively.

Shiro’s eyes darken. He kneels up and reaches behind himself. When he brings his hand back around, he presses his newly wet fingers to Lance’s hole. Slick with Shiro himself. Lance’s cheeks burn, and he drops back onto the bed as Shiro presses a pair of fingers into him. Even if they’ve done this a few times, it’s still new and borderline overwhelming. Lance has to remind himself to breath and bear down as his hands fist in his sheets. Shiro leans over him, licking up Lance’s stomach and mouthing at his nipples in turn. Lance groans and bucks back against him. It’s good, so good, but when Shiro’s metal fingers inch toward his pelvis, Lance reaches down and stops him. “Don’t. I’ll come.”

Moaning low in his throat, Shiro says, “It’ll be easier if you do.”

Lance shakes his head, pulling Shiro’s hand back to his hips in earnest. “Wanna come with you inside me.”

Shiro lets out a soft wanting sound, but he turns back to the task at hand, scissoring his fingers until he can fit a third.

Lance groans and presses his hips back, squirming in time with each thrust of Shiro’s fingers. Shiro aims for his prostate every couple thrusts, keeping Lance on his toes as he works. But Lance is ready, he knows it. Another few minutes of fingering won’t help. “C’mon,” he says, bucking up to meet each thrust. “I’m not made of glass.”

Shaking his head as he grins, Shiro wets his fingers once more to slick his dick. It’s thicker than most omega dicks, at least all the ones Lance has seen in porn. Shiro kneels between Lance’s thighs and lines up carefully before looking up at him. Before he can even ask, Lance rolls his eyes and rolls his hips up against Shiro. “Yes, I’m sure Shiro. Now, please, for the love of God, put your dick in me!”

Laughing, Shiro nods and pushes in slowly.

Lance has to grit his teeth. Should’ve let Shiro prep him a little more because this is not what he was expecting. It’s hot, and heavy, and absolutely unyielding. He doesn’t know what he expected, but this isn’t it. 

But before Lance gets lost in the pain, Shiro props himself up over Lance and kisses him. It’s sudden, and the taste of himself on Shiro’s tongue is startling, but what really gets him is the shifting angle. In seconds, Lance goes from lying back and thinking of Earth to helplessly moaning as he clings to Shiro. 

“You okay?” Shiro asks when he breaks the kiss.

Lance blinks through the bliss. What? Shiro expects him to talk? Now? He gulps hard until he finds his voice. “Awesome! Better than great.” He drags in a steadying breath just before Shiro rolls his hips and hits his prostate. Lance has to count backwards from ten to stop himself from cumming. “Now if you could just start fucking me and not stop, that would be great.”

Shiro chuckles and slowly starts thrusting, and Lance’s eyes roll back into his head. He holds tight, squirming in counterpoint to Shiro’s every movements. He can feel Shiro’s skin skimming across his dick; paired with the drag against his prostate at every thrust, he’s practically seeing stars. 

A few more thrusts, and Lance’s back arches off the bed, his dick twitching and spilling between them. For a moment, Shiro starts to slow, but Lance wraps hooks his heels around Shiro’s ass—his wet, dripping ass—and holds him in. “Don’t stop,” he pleads, praying Shiro won’t question it, will just keep going.

And bless him, Shiro smiles down at him, captures his lips in another searing kiss, and sink back in. Lance squeezes his eyes shut as too much pleasure skitters over his already abused nerves. He clings to Shiro, burying his face in Shiro’s neck and clawing at his back for purchase. Shiro growls low and pushes harder, plunging in to the hilt with each thrust. It’s too much, more than he can stand, and Lance loves it. Loves the fact that he can’t do a thing but take everything Shiro gives him, everything Shiro thinks he deserves. 

He whites out just as Shiro’s hips stutter and something warm pours through him, comes to with a semi drooling against his thigh as Shiro pulls him against his chest. He’s sticky all over, and he knows he’ll be sore in the morning, but this, Shiro’s arms tight around him and his heartbeat slowing steadily under Lance’s cheek, this is perfect. Absolutely perfect.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Questions, comments, and con-crit welcome. Come scream with me on Tumblr (birdsbeesandlemonadetrees.tumblr.com)


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